Chapter 13 Prince #2
Staring deeply, I pull Royce up, placing her on her bare feet next to me.
As my hold releases, she crumbles. Bending over, I grip her arm, and through gritted teeth, I threaten, because if she continues to test me, I will do it, “You will be fucking present for this. Your disobedience will not be tolerated. I will make you rewatch, on repeat, what I did to your vampire.”
Sniffles of sadness follow, and my eyes roll while yanking her back up.
Hunched over, she babies her left side with trembling hands. “I’m here. I’m fucking here. Watching. Is this what you wanted from me? Are you happy now?”
Immensely, I silently say to myself.
Take the knife. From ear to ear. And be sure to not shed a tear.
Agatha’s wilted old hand wraps around the black handle of the chef’s knife.
Casually, she brings it down from her eye and places the sharp tip on the side of her face, beside her tragus.
Forcefully, she impales herself. The knife makes a clean cut as she drags it across her face.
Blood begins to bead out, staining her face, running down onto her vile brown frock.
Some crimson leaves droplets on the floor beneath her.
Smiling, my white teeth show, unable to suppress the glee coming over me as I watch her demise by my hand… my fucking mind.
Glancing at Royce, her stare is toward Agatha’s feet. That will not fucking do.
My hand grips her face, squeezing her cheeks. I can feel her molars against my fingers. The overwhelming desire to lick her face washes over me, and I do, deliberately, all the way up to the corner of her eye. My teeth nip, and my lips move against her skin. “You will watch.”
Royce attempts to swallow, then trembles before nodding yes.
Releasing my hold, I reward her with a muttered “Good girl,” then return my focus back to Agatha, who has made the cut all the way to the corner of her lip.
Taking the knife, she swipes it between her teeth and continues to slice the other side. Through her cheek and muscle, her jawbone and molars can be seen. Blood is profusely gushing out of her now, but not enough to kill her, just for her to choke on.
Her face is carved, and her chin is stained. The droplets of crimson are turning into an exquisite puddle that I wish to bathe in later.
Drop the knife.
Agatha’s hand releases the blade. It falls to the side, bouncing off the floor several times before finally settling with a clatter.
My hand wraps around Royce’s tiny wrist, and her feet trip over one another as I drag her behind me to the kitchen. With great force and pleasure, I rapidly move Agatha ahead of us, then slam her body against the cold tiled floor while reciting this poem.
Dancing and prancing to the wood stove oven we go,
One hop, two hops, three hops, we watch it glow.
And as you burn, the sweet scent of death,
Karma came to you. Now rot with the rest.
Agatha rises. Blood continues flowing from her as she reaches up to the shelf above the forest green cast iron stove. A box of matches is gripped tightly in her hand. Sliding it open, she takes a match and swiftly swipes it in order to ignite it.
Bending over, she opens the small door next to the oven where the wood rests, then tosses the lit match onto the chopped logs.
Oxygen feeds the fire, and we keep the door open until the flames roar to life.
Once satisfied, I tell her to close the door, and we resume watching the orange and red vibrantly flicker through the glass window.
Hop in, hop now.
Burn, bitch, burn.
The main oven door opens; it too has a glass window for us to view inside. Agatha steps in as the space heats up. The fit will be tight, but I will force her in if that’s what it takes.
A second foot follows, and she begins to shimmy her body backward, placing her hands on the ground as support. My heart races with excitement as I pull Royce closer to me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, and my eyes are captivated with delight.
Agatha hunches over, squeezing her head through the opening and wrapping her arms around her bent knees that are digging into her chest. She just barely fits.
Close!
The door slams shut, then the latch follows, securing it to remain shut.
The iron cylinder attached to it helps move the smoke outside as the fire gets bigger and the oven becomes hotter.
Some hot air remains trapped, fogging the glass periodically as we watch her suffocate.
Sweat drips, mixed with the blood. The sweet sizzling of her hands against the oven walls is soothing.
I don’t allow her to scream or beg for release.
She will sit there and fucking take it, just as I did when she suppressed my abilities.
Tilting my head, I peek over to Royce to ensure she is watching, and for the first time all evening I find her enjoying her time with me.
With wide eyes, the flickers of orange reflect in her vibrant purple eyes.
She still cradles her side, but she makes no attempt to rescue Agatha or stop me.
My cock softens in response, which I allow, because for the first time, I feel at ease with her being content with me.
The clock ticks as we observe the glory before us.
Minutes turn to an hour.
Agatha’s skin bubbles with blisters as we cook her alive. Her internal organs boil, and in a matter of time they will give out and stop working. The smell of burnt flesh lingers in my nose, and I taste it on my tongue, but I am unbothered.
I step forward and kneel, removing the roaster pan underneath the oven where drippings typically fall, but today it’s filled with body juices, burnt strands of hair, and blood.
It’s hot to the touch, but I am me, and I can do fucking anything.
Smiling, I pivot my head to look behind me as an idea comes to me.
And just as I do, Royce breaks the silence we have been submerged in. “How do I know that’s true?” she probes. “How do I know you didn’t force her to say those things? And how do I know any of this is real?”
Questioning reality, wise sweet girl, but it’s far too late for that.
Rising, with the hot pan in hand, I walk over to my naive foster sister and dump the contents of it over her head.
Coating her body, the liquid is thick, and once the realization washes over her, a giant scream erupts from her mouth.
Her feet move frantically in an effort to escape me, but it’s to no avail.
Instead they slip on the tile, and her broken body crashes back down to the floor, where she fucking belongs
My head tilts as I take her in. Pathetic.
Then it shakes whilst I stand over her blood-soaked body.
I drop the pan, and it echoes against the tile whilst I pull the legs of my trousers up.
Kneeling, I crouch before her while balancing on the balls of my feet.
Harshly, I grip her jaw, spitting out, “Fuck you.”